


Detective Tucker and the Case of Arcadium's Mask

by BoxOnTheNile



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Canon-Typical Violence, I wrote a Juno Steel au and I refuse to be stopped, M/M, Nonbinary Character, RvB Rare Pair Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-26 19:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: People say Hyperion City has the most beautiful skyline in the galaxy. But the thing about skylines is they don't show you the corruption underneath.Detective Tucker is a private eye in the worst city on Mars. And his week is about to get a lot more interesting: enter both a death threat and Agent Magnus Vega. The question is, who is Vega, and can he be trusted?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShyChangling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyChangling/gifts).



> So I listened to the first episode of the Penumbra Podcast back in March, right? And by the end I was a)crying, b)laughing, and c) absolutely convinced that Tucker and Donut would be perfect as Juno and Nureyev. So. Here we are.
> 
> This is both canon to rvb and Juno Steel in terms of violence, and Juno-canon in terms of general mental health fuckery. 
> 
> Finally, I'm writing Tucker as transmasc non-binary. Technically, I always write him that way, but it's slightly more prominent here.
> 
> Content Warnings for Chapter 1: alcohol abuse, references to past drug abuse, emetophobia, descriptions of violence
> 
> EDIT: HEY I FORGOT TO PUT THE [ART](https://shychangling.tumblr.com/post/184209409387/boxonthenile-has-a-wonderful-tucknut-juno-steel) THAT MY FRIEND SHY DREW FOR THIS PLEASE LOOK IT'S MY LOCKSCREEN.

The light hurt.

The light hurt, he was hungover, and he still had to go to _fucking_ work.

Detective Lavernius Tucker gently pushed the door to his office closed, wincing when the soft click drove into his skull like a knife. At least he was here before–

_“Jefe.”_

Tucker cringed. “Morning, Lopez.”

 _“Are you still high or just hungover?”_ There was a disappointed lilt to Lopez's voice that made Tucker want to crawl under his desk and apologize.

“Hungover. And, hey, I didn't have anything harder than alcohol last night. I made a promise.”

Lopez stared at him for a moment, then passed Tucker the coffee cup in his hand. _“There's a new case file on your desk. The messenger tried to stick around, but I threw her out. The Dufresnes don't know how to speak to a lady or his assistant.”_

“I thought the Dufresnes didn't want anything to do with me after last time,” Tucker said. He accepted the protein bar Lopez pulled from his desk. “You're my favorite.”

_“I know. And I thought the same. They broke your ribs.”_

“They _bruised_ my ribs, the doctors said there was a difference. Maybe. I was still on some really good painkillers at the time.”

_“Case.”_

“Case!” Tucker repeated, and winced again. Too loud. Too loud. Ouch.

His office was through the other door, and there was a manilla folder on the desk. Paper, not even a disposable data chip. He scoffed angrily. Fucking Dufresnes. He dropped into his desk chair and flipped open the folder.

He immediately flipped it back shut and grabbed his trash bin, heaving into it. The protein bar he’d just taken a bite of came back up.

 _“Jefe!”_ Lopez burst in, one hand dropping to rest between Tucker’s shoulder blades as he vomited. 

“Holy _shit,_ ” Tucker said. That was… awful. He pulled in a breath, steeled himself. “You, uh, you probably don’t want to see this, Lo.”

Lopez stared at him, unimpressed. Tucker opened the folder again. 

The photo on the top of the file was gory and gruesome. There was half a corpse hanging out of what appeared to be a trophy case, the inside of the glass splattered with blood. He was pretty sure the other half of the body was in the case, but he didn't want to look too close.

Then he saw what's written on the wall, and could look at nothing else.

**You're Next Lavernius Tucker**

_“I'm throwing this out,”_ Lopez said, reaching for the file, but Tucker stopped him.

“Wait,” he murmured, and Lopez groaned. “Why would they ask for _me,_ other than my name on the wall? They hate me!” 

The office comms rang from Lopez's desk, and he swore loudly. Tucker pressed the heel of one hand into his temple. _Jesus,_ that was the last time he drank like that on a work night.

(It wouldn't be, and he knew it.)

“Tucker.”

Tucker looked at the comms on his desk, light blinking green. “Lopez, I told you not to put him through anymore.”

“You think your secretary can stop me?”

Tucker sighed, frustrated. “Hello, Church, how can I help government spooks today?”

“Dark Matters isn't government, Tucker.” Leonard Church answered, as though he hadn't hacked Tucker's comms, and this was a social call. “But that's not the point. The point is the case file currently on your desk.”

“Did you _bug my fucking office?”_

“Of course I did, someone has to keep you out of trouble.” 

“You aren't even on Mars, _Agent_ Church!” Tucker grit his teeth as the yelling made his head throb. 

“And yet, I'm still keeping you from getting killed. Have you heard of the Death Mask of Arcadium?”

_“Uhhhhhgggggg.”_ Tucker dropped his head to the desk. “I don't put stock in urban legends or ancient, extinct aliens, Church. I didn’t think Dark Matters did either.”

“Until a few decades ago, Dark Matters was urban legend, too. It’s a professional courtesy.”

“So what’s so important about the mask?” Tucker mumbled into the synthwood of his desk. It was cool and felt nice. His stomach was still turning a little. 

“I’ll spare you the specifics, but it’s haunted and supposedly gunning for you, so I’d say you’re pretty fucked.”

“Nice, I’ve been looking for a easy job.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ Tucker, has the radiation finally eaten your last brain cell? Not everyone looks at a death threat and sees a job offer!” Church sighed heavily. “Still, it’s a good thing you’re interested. The Dufresnes were insistent you take the case and not one of ours.”

“What? No! I’m not an _idiot_. I was pretty badly concussed, but I’m pretty sure the last thing Gamma Dufresne said to me ‘if I ever see you here again, I’ll kill you’.”

“What did you _do_?”

“Saved his son. Most of his son. Doesn’t matter, I’m not taking the case, so you can tell Gamma and—”

“Gamma’s the corpse.”

“So it turns out I’m interested.”

“Oh, good. Your Dark Matters consultant will be there any minute.” There was a click as the call disconnected.

Tucker blinked at the comms, processing that information for a heartbeat, before he scrambled to his feet and grabbed his coat, swaying as the room spun. He was halfway out the window when his office door opened again. He threw a look over his shoulder and… stopped.

Church knew him too fucking well. The Dark Matters agent wore the same dark glasses and long coat as every other agent Tucker had ever seen, though he did have a... blue? black? A dark colored scarf that certainly wasn't regulation. The glasses did nothing to hide the plasma burns over half his face, or the charming smile he wore. “Detective Tucker, it’s a pleasure to—are you… trying to climb out the window?”

“I’d say I was succeeding, actually,” Tucker said, before he can shut up. He’d always been distracted by pretty faces, and the Agent was _beautiful._

“Is there room for two on that fire escape?” His voice was a purr, and it made Tucker’s stomach swoop for reasons unrelated to his hangover. 

But he was (sort of) a professional, so he accepted his loss grudgingly and climbed down off the windowsill. “So I guess you’re my consultant or whatever?”

“Magnus Vega,” the Agent said, stepping neatly around Tucker’s desk and offering his hand for Tucker to shake. “If I’d known I’d be in the presence of such lovely lady, I would have been better dressed.”

And Tucker, Tucker was thirty-eight years old. He’d wooed dozens of people into his bed, he experimented a whole lot in his twenties, he’d been fucking _engaged_ … but god help him, he was blushing, because someone smiled at him and called him a ‘lovely lady.’

He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him something that soft.

“We are headed to a crime scene, Agent Vega.” Tucker reminded him, absently reclaiming his hand. He’d given up on the idea of cracking this case alone. Besides, someone at his back while dealing with a criminal family like the _Dufresnes_ probably wasn’t a bad idea.

“True. Perhaps later, then.” That charming smile turned flirtatious.

Tucker was certain, then, that Magnus Vega was dangerous, and he felt something like _anticipation_ for the first time in years.

* * *

The Dufresne mansion hovered nearly three hundred feet off the streets of Hyperion City, near the top of dome. The first time Tucker had been there, he'd been unable to stop himself from reaching up, like he could touch the plasma barrier of the only sky he'd ever known.

He was older, now, and more jaded, and still absolutely terrified of heights, but that sense of wonder still lingered. He shoved his hands in his pockets before he could do something stupid.

Vega had no such reservations, staring up in delight. “You can see the fluctuations in the energy current,” he said, grabbing Tucker's arm. Tucker barely managed to keep from flinching. 

“Yep,” he said instead, keeping his eyes firmly on the front door of the mansion. The guards posted there ushered them in, one of them becoming their guide.

Tucker double-checked the charge on his blaster. 

“Detective, if you don’t mind me asking…” Vega said softly. “You seem quite on edge.”

“Well, Vega, this is a mafia family that has it out for me, so—”

“Yes, of course, but… Why? Do they have it out for you?” 

“Uh… You know that the Dufresne’s own half the stream shows in the Sol system, right? So, I took a job from them, saved Gamma's kid Omega–O’malley? I think he might be going by O'Malley now, actually–and Gamma asked me what Detective Tucker watched in his free time. I told him nothing he had any hand in. But that wasn't good enough for him, so he kept pushing and pushing until _I_ said _'right now I'd pay about ten thousand creds for you to dig a deep, deep hole and bury yourself in it.’_ ”

“And?”

“And the hospital had me under observation for twenty-four hours to make sure it was just a concussion and not brain damage.”

“Oh.”

“ _Yeah_. So I'm understandably unhappy.”

Their guide pointed firmly at a door before turning on his heel and leaving. Tucker watched him go, shoulders slumping. “Alright then, let's get this over with.” He reached to open the door, but Vega darted in front of him.

“Allow me, Detective,” he said, that sultry purr back in his voice. Tucker was so, so glad he didn’t show blushes, because his cheeks burned hot enough he could probably light a cigarette off them.

“Tucker?”

Tucker waved to hand to tell Vega to wait. “Doc?”

Frank “Doc’ Dufresne, probably the only good one of the bunch. He was dressed in his customary purple, shoulders hunched. He managed a watery smile when he made eye contact with Tucker. “I heard Sigma called you in to investigate.”

“Yeah. I’m, uh, sorry. For your loss.”

“Thank you,” Doc said softly. “Who’s your new friend? I thought you only ever worked with Mister, um…”

“Lopez is just my secretary, Doc. This is Agent Magnus Vega, Dark Matters.”

“Dark Matters?” Doc shifted nervously foot to foot. Tucker sighed. He’d never been meant for the Dufresne’s criminal lifestyle, or the cutthroat world of reality streamstars. “Why is Dark Matters interested in Dad?”

“Oh, no, I’m here to investigate the mask,” Vega told him, waving his hand dismissively. “Gamma Dufresne doesn’t interest Dark Matters at all. Detective Tucker is here for the murder.”

Doc sniffled softly. “You’ll find them, right, Lavernius?”

“I'll do my best,” he promised. “I do need to ask you a few questions, though. Where were you last night?”

“I’m a suspect?”

“Everyone’s a suspect, Doc. I’m a suspect. Fucking _Vega’s_ a suspect.”

Doc scrubbed at his eyes. “He told me I could do it. I could take a camera crew to the Outer Rim and do my series.”

“That documentary series?” Tucker clarified. “The one about… how did you put it?”

“All the ways people are people,” Doc told him. Tucker nodded. Those documentaries were Doc's dream–they were why Tucker and O'Malley called him Doc to begin with. “I was out all night trying to barter for a ship. I was planning to head out to Brahma next month.” 

“Can you prove that? You know I have to ask, because the police won’t.”

“That’s why I’m glad you’re doing this. You won’t get bought out.” Doc sniffed again. “Yeah, the car had a camera. Sigma likes knowing where we are. I’ll have someone forward the footage to you—to your secretary.” He pulled out his comms.

“He’ll send me the important parts. Thanks, Doc.” Tucker touched his arm as comfortingly as he could and turned back to Vega. “Alright, let’s do this.” 

Vega opened the door and Tucker _cringed_. The Dufresne trophy room was full of stolen and grave robbed treasures, from dozens of Earth cultures to Ancient Martian to what Tucker was pretty sure was the diamond core of an asteroid. The luster of it all was lost in the horror scene at the end of the hall. Blood covered the walls and glass sides of the trophy case holding the mask, where… well. It _had_ been Gamma Dufresne. 

Tucker looked up at the ceiling and focused on keeping the meager contents of his stomach where they were.

“I don’t imagine he expected to go out like this, do you, dear detective?”

“I don’t think Gamma expected to die at all. I don’t think he knew he could, honestly.”

“Hmm, and how do you think you’ll die?”

“What?”

“Indulge me?”

Tucker shrugged, eyes still firmly skyward. “In a cold ditch somewhere, just like everybody else.”

Vega chuckled under his breath. “Are you alright, Detective?”

“Just way too hungover for this shit.” He took a steadying breath, nearly choking on the iron tang in the air. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

The body was _messy_. Whatever the ancient Martians had looked like, they must have been monstrous; the death mask had tried to force Gamma's skull into something arched and elongated… and succeeded. Bits of brain matter and flesh stuck to the glass. 

“Oh, goddamnit,” Tucker muttered, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves. 

“Incredible,” Vega breathed. “Look, Detective! The mask must have some kind of automatic mechanism; all it would take is one good shove into the case and _snap!_ ”

“And that's gonna be the plot summary of all my nightmares for the next six years.” Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the mask. It _unfolded_ , and he yanked his hand back. “Oh good, it comes off, Jesus _fuck_.” He pulled the mask free and slid it into an evidence bag. His eye caught on something at the edge of the case. “Hey, Doc? These don't look like standard fingerprint locks.”

“Ah, no,” Vega said before Doc could answer. “They appear to be biometric locks, keyed to DNA instead of fingerprints.”

“They’re supposed to be thief proof,” Doc added, “but Dad made his business through thieving, so he put two. One's… one _was_ keyed to him. The other is keyed to O'Malley and me.”

“So, what, it needs two DNA samples to open?” Tucker groaned when Doc nodded. At that moment, his comms beeped; Lopez verifying that the security footage he'd received was timestamped and unaltered. “And your alibi checks out, which means…” He squeezed his eyes shut as his shoulders slumped with resignation, but he shoved that feeling down. He had a job to do. “Mind telling me where your brother was last night?”

Doc couldn't meet his gaze. “Probably here, in his workshop.”

“And where’s he now?”

Doc pointed at one of the heavy tombstone doors.

Tucker sighed. “Of fucking course. Thanks.”

Doc touched his elbow. “Be careful? You know how he is.”

Tucker had scars making it so he could never _forget_ how O’Malley Dufresne was. Cold, cruel, and worse than crazy; he was _brilliant_. A nightmare with technology, a savant with simple AI, and sadistic asshole to boot.

Sleeping with him was a huge mistake, honestly, and Tucker wanted to shake some sense into his past self.

As he prepared to push the heavy stone doors open, he wondered who would shake some sense into his _present_ self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have ideas on how to make Hyperion City less of a trashfire? Want to shake some sense into Tucker's present self? Find me at boxonthenile on Tumblr and pillowfort and @nile_speaks on twitter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a HUGE thank you to HappyLeech for the fight scene help
> 
> Content warnings for vague references to childhood abuse and alcoholism, graphic descriptions of violence

In the low light of the room beyond those stone doors, Detective Lavernius Tucker fell in love.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Vega fell into step next to him as Tucker moved past the doors. The fucking _tomb_ , because God forbid these motherfuckers be anything less than pretentious asshats for two minutes, swung shut behind them, leaving the way illuminated only by dim red aisle lights running along the corridor walls. 

Vega took his hand with a soft hitch in his breath.

“Scared of the dark, Agent?” Tucker asked, teasing, but he squeezed his hand. Vega chuckled nervously, and shifted his weight, and…

His scarf _glittered_.

When Tucker was young, nine or ten, he and Church–Leo, then–and Mike had skipped school. They “borrowed” a hoverbike from Leo’s neighbor and drove out to the the boundary of Oldtown, to the edge of the dome… and past it. The terraforming of Mars centuries ago had left a thin but breathable atmosphere but little protection from radiation, so it was only safe outside the dome for so long. But for an hour, they were free, staring up at the night sky unhindered by pollution or plasma shielding. Tucker had paid dearly for it when his mother found out, but the stars had been worth the bruises.

Vega’s scarf shone like it had been woven from those stars, the shining specks tinted red from the lights, and Tucker had never seen anything so beautiful.

“I'm just fine, Detective,” Vega said. There was a soft tug as he went to take his hand back, but Tucker's grip tightened. For a moment, he was a child back in worst parts of Hyperion City, holding greedy and selfish to the few things he considered worth having...but the moment passed, and he let go. 

“Right, well. We should find O'Malley.” 

“Yes, right.” Vega cleared his throat. His scarf cast tiny flecks of light onto his cheeks like freckles. “Although, he does appear to be leading us straight to him. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it a trap.”

“What makes you think you know better?” Tucker asked him. “This is definitely a trap. At the end of this, there’s going to be a, a throne of spinning blades or something.” 

“Now, Detective, don't be so dramatic, there's no way he…” Vega trailed off as they reached the end of the corridor. “Oh. So this is what the blueprints were for.”

'This’ was a round, empty room lined with the same running lights as the corridor, the dim glow highlighting just how _big_ the room actually was. The doorway they'd just exited was lined in lights, as were two more along the walls, equidistant from each other.

“What do you mean blueprints?”

“Do you really think Dark Matters would send an agent in unprepared?”

“Point,” Tucker conceded. “Those blueprints tell you which door to take?”

“Uh…. Neither of them. There's a hidden door somewhere in the wall. I just… can’t recall between which doors.”

“Oh goddamnit,” Tucker sighed. He put his fingertips against the wall and walked slowly, feeling for a seam or crack to mark the door. The wall was cold and smooth like marble or steel. “Stay close. I don't trust O'Malley as far I can throw him, and that's not very far to begin with.”

Vega fell into step next to him. His scarf no longer glittered, and Tucker wondered idly exactly how it worked. Was there not enough light now, or…

Three things happened very quickly. First, Tucker's arm bumped into something protruding from the wall, and a shackle snapped shut around his wrist. Instinctively, he grabbed it with his other hand to pry it loose, and a second shackle closed around that one as well.

Spotlights flooded the room, blinding the two. Tucker flinched and swore, jerking back to cover his eyes with his arm. The shackles didn’t let him. 

Laughter echoed from all sides, and Vega stepped in as though to shield Tucker from the sound of it. “Well, well, well, look what the _trash_ dragged in.”

Vega cocked his head. “I thought the phrase was—”

“He’s insulting me,” Tucker interrupted, tugging futilely on his restraints. “Come on, O’Malley, at least buy me a drink first.” 

“No one in Hyperion City has pockets deep enough to feed your liquor habit, Detective,” O’Malley said. There was still no sign on the little _asshole_ , just a few hovering drone cameras. Vega turned his face away from the drones, pulling his scarf up. “Besides, I have something far more interesting planned. Welcome to _The Taste of Oblivion_!”

"You've got me tied up for, what, a _cooking_ show?" Tucker asked incredulously.

"Of course not," O'malley spat back at him. "It's a battle royale."

"Oh sweet Christ." Tucker smacked his head against the wall. "Are you _kidding_ me?" He pulled again, knowing it would be useless–but there was a soft _clink_ as a few links of chain came sliding from the wall. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“Detective, do you have a plan?” Vega asked, barely audible over the loud grinding of one of the other doors beginning to open. Somehow, two metal knives had appeared in his hands.

Prepared for anything. That was so unfortunately _sexy_.

“For now? Play his game and don’t die. After? I’m gonna punch his teeth in.”

The door across the room ground to a halt, the space behind it dark and impenetrable. A mechanical whir accompanied by a rolling growl echoed across the space as a quadrupedal robot slunk from the shadows, glowing red eyes, something like a tail lashing behind it.

“Isn’t it just deliciously lethal?” O’Malley’s voice asked, still booming from the hidden speakers. The acoustics of the room made it sound like it’s everywhere at once, and Tucker _hated_ it, the way he couldn’t fucking _place_ one of the many, many threats in the room. 

“It’s a lion,” Vega breathed, and it’s the first time Tucker had heard anything but cocky confidence in his voice. He wished that the new emotion hadn’t been fear. “It even moves like a cat.”

“That looks nothing like a cat,” Tucker said. He had a blaster in a holster on his belt, if he could just reach it then he could fill the damn bot with laser fire. 

“I’m afraid to ask what cats look like on Mars, then,” Vega said. “I don’t think my knives will have much effect.”

Wait, _of course._ “Blaster, left hip,” he said quickly. “Once that’s handled, we can figure out what to do about these.” He rattled the chain of his shackles.

“Trade you,” Vega replied breezily, shrugging out of his jacket. He draped it over Tucker’s arms, pressed against his back as he grabbed the blaster, fingers skimming along his belt to find the holster. “There’s lockpicks in the front pocket, Detective, for both manual and electronic locks.” And he was gone, darting across the arena, because that’s what it _was_ , fucking _Dufresnes._

Tucker cursed loud and long, fumbling for the pockets of the dark jacket best he could. He dug into one of the three front pockets and prayed.

“Other one!” Vega called. The bot hadn’t attacked yet, but it was stalking closer to Vega. Tucker rolled his eyes, but he was starting to sweat from the spotlights and the hungry way the ‘cat’ kept glancing his way. 

“Fuck,” he hissed at a sudden sharp prick. He closed his fingers around the culprit and jostled his hand free. He slid… whatever poked him into his sleeve and dug into the next pocket. There—the familiar ridged casing of an electronic lockpick. He didn’t bother shaking it free, just pressed the sensor pad against the seam of the shackle through the fabric of the jacket and held the button down.

The cuff clicked open as a short range electromagnetic pulse scrambled the circuits of the lock. Tucker’s triumphant cry was immediately drowned out by Vega’s surprised yelp and the roar of the ‘lion’. 

Years of instinct took over, and Tucker jerked to the side the moment before the bot’s claws raked over where his head had been. The bot rebounded off the wall and rolled back to its feet. A laser shot into the wall, barely missing the thing, and Vega swore, already moving, running to reach him. 

He wouldn’t get there in time. Tucker did what he’d done his whole life and braced for a hit, his free arm covering his face a heartbeat before the bot sank its teeth into him. The weight of it shoved him back, and his shoulder popped sickeningly.

Vega didn’t miss his next shot, laser fire scorching the metal of the bot. It pried its teeth out of his arm with a slick sound, turning on Vega, stalking back in his direction with snarl. Tucker’s head was spinning from the pain of his dislocated shoulder and the deep puncture wounds.

Focus. Free his other arm, kill the bot, arrest O’Malley for the murder of his father. That was doable. Whether or not he lived beyond that was a moot point. 

He slid to the ground, balancing on his knees, biting back a whimper as the position pulled at his shoulder. He grabbed Vega’s jacket again, streaking the cloth with blood. 

The casing of the pick was cracked, and Tucker could see shattered circuitry inside. Breathe, don’t panic, look for another tool. He grew up in fucking Oldtown, he was good at improvising. More pocket rifling: a pebble, half a candy bar, a coil of wire, a two-cred bill folded into a surprisingly intact bird, a travel sized shampoo bottle, a metal token that read “Car Wash”... and a plasma blade.

Tucker could cry. He wrapped numb fingers around the hilt as he turned it on, forcing himself back to his feet. He could hear laser fire and growling behind him, but it was like he was hearing it through water. He pressed the blade against a link in the chain. It hissed and spat as the metal started to melt.

“Detective?” Vega called, and Tucker grit his teeth and bore down harder against the chain link. 

“Just a minute,” he called back. “I just… need…” The blade cut through, and Tucker shoved away from the wall. Vega wasn’t far, avoiding the bot’s claws with a dancer’s grace, knife in one hand and blaster in the other. As he watched, a claw swiped close to Vega’s scarf, Vega stumbling back too fast to keep his balance, and he fell, blaster skittering across the floor. Tucker lunged for it, not bothering to try and stay on his feet. He twisted, aimed between his knees, fired…

Three bolts hit the lion perfectly in its eye, and it collapsed, legs folding up underneath it. Tucker panted, dropping back to the floor.

“Ow,” he said. His whole body felt like one big hurt, and there was something digging into his right elbow, barely noticeable through the weighty numbness there. Several camera drones orbited above like carrion birds in those old Terran films.

Vega appeared in his vision, scarf still over his face and sunglasses crooked on his nose. He had his jacket back, digging through the pockets. His hands resurfaced with a roll of bandages and a small bottle of… something. Tucker's vision was swimming too much to read.

“No!” O'Malley’s voice echoed, though he sounded like a whining child. “Ugh, Tucker you never let me have any fun. Though I suppose the footage is salvageable–”

Tucker pointed his bleeding hand straight up and shot one of the camera drones out the the air. The debris landed several feet to the side.

“I fucking hate this family,” he told Vega. The man hummed and popped Tucker's shoulder back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Want to help me fund _Colosseum II: We Gave the Lion a Gun and You Won't Believe What Happened Next_? Find me at boxonthenile on tumblr and pillowfort and @nile_speaks on twitter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: so i have a vague idea on what I would do if i continued this au  
> HappyLeech over vc: would you say you have a VEGA idea  
> Me: I hate you
> 
> Content warning for references to past child abuse and drug use, suicidal ideation, intentional self neglect

Vega's emergency patch job of Tucker's arm would hold, and Tucker dislocated his shoulder the first time at _six_ , so he waved off Vega's fussing. "Let's just arrest the fucker and go home," he murmured angrily. O'Malley hadn't stopped bitching about footage and damaged equipment for the full twenty minutes they took to wrap Tucker's arm, and he was so _fucking_ over this. The cuff still around Tucker’s wrist _did_ click open on its own, so… Tucker gave O’Malley that, at least.

Once everything was bandaged and Tucker's blaster was back on his belt, he staggered back to his feet and stumbled for the wall. There was still something in his _sleeve_ and he didn't know what it _was_ and it was getting harder and harder to remember why he fucking bothered with this job in the first place.

"Oh don't bother," O'Malley said bitterly. A section of the wall opposite where Tucker had been chained slid open silently, and there was a crushing moment of utter exhaustion before Vega gently took Tucker's arm and led him through.

The hallway to O'Malley's control room was lined with the same red running lights as the corridor and the arena, but Vega's scarf remained dull and dark this time. Tucker leaned heavily against his side.

In the dim light, he shook the hard thing in his sleeve down to his hand, then slid it into his pocket. He really, really hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

O'Malley was curled up in a rolling office chair in front of the glowing control panel, sulking. "When did you get so boring, Tucker?" he asked.

"About the time you sent me a death threat, 'Mega," Tucker snapped, and the man in the chair scowled.

" _O'Malley_ ," he corrected. "I've been trying to get away from Dad's utterly ridiculous preoccupation with Greek letters, just like Doc and I have been trying to get out from under his thumb for years."

And, _god_ , Tucker understood that. He does. He still had a job to do. "Is that why you killed him?"

"Why I… what?" O'Malley looked _shocked._ "He's… what?" There was something wild in his eyes, a violent denial. “No, no, Sigma would have, he would have told me when he told me you were here, what do you mean he’s—”

"Oh, _bullshit,_ " Tucker spat. "You finally got fed up with Gamma controlling your lives and so you killed him."

"Not everyone wants to kill their parents, Tucker! That's just _you._ " O'Malley yelled, and Tucker reeled back. 

"Detective," Vega started.

"Don't," Tucker rasped. “Just _don’t_.”

"Is he really dead?" O'Malley asked. The anger drained out of him, and he just looked… small. Grieving.

"I'm sorry, Mister O'Malley," Vega told him softly. "But you were the only one here last night with access to the murder weapon."

“I wasn’t _here_ last night,” O’Malley said. “Doc could tell I was getting angry with Dad and Sigma and had me go haggle for a ship for his ridiculous documentaries so I could get out for few hours and not start fights with the guards. I snuck back in a few hours ago.”

It was like someone opened up Tucker’s ribs and scooped his chest clean. He just felt hollow. “Of course,” he said, flat, _tired_.

“But Doc’s alibi…” Vega said, but Tucker was already shaking his head.

“They’re twins, and I already know how talented O’Malley is with stage makeup. Can’t even tell his arm’s a prosthetic, see? And O’Malley’s a violent asshole, but I don’t think he actually knows how to lie.”

“Hey,” O’Malley protested, but it was weak. 

“Doc did it,” Tucker said, and it would have been so much easier he’d just bled out in the fucking arena. "C'mon, Agent Vega, let's… do our job." 

Vega followed without argument, leaving O'Malley at his control panel, lost and alone.

They made it to the first corridor past the arena before Tucker's knees buckled. Vega made a soft sound of surprise, carefully lowering him to the floor. "Ah," the agent said. "Tucker, are you alright?"

"Hi, I'm fine, how're you?" he asked, dizzy. "Anyone ever tell you you smell really good?" And he _did_ : Tucker had been smelling the sweet, floral scent for hours now. He only just placed it as _Vega_ by sheer proximity in the last minute or so.

"You've already bled through your bandages, Detective. Those are going to need stitches. Wait here, I'll find a first aid kit and finish you off in second." 

The goddamn _triple_ entendre swam in Tucker's brain for a moment, and by the time he decided to take it at face value instead of something sinister or sexy, Vega was gone.

Tucker counted to three, and fished the object from before out of his pocket. A tiny glass syringe sat in his palm, and another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

He took a photo with his comms and sent it to Lopez anyway. He really, really wanted to be wrong.

The confirmation came back in moments: he wasn't.

"Oh fuck me," he sighed and tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. The universe just kept kicking him while he was down, didn't it. One of these days, he wasn't going to bother picking himself back up again.

Vega came back before Tucker completely got himself pulled back together. He heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, the rustle of fabric as he sat next to him. "Tucker?" 

Wordlessly, Tucker offered Vega his arm. He hummed and set to unwrapping the bandages. "Tucker, may I–hmm. What did, ah, when O'Malley said–"

"My mother died twenty years ago," Tucker said. "In prison. I refused to have a funeral; she gave me more than enough scars to remember her by. I hated her. That's what O'Malley was talking about."

A moment of silence stretched out, with Vega putting neat stitches into the deep puncture wounds in Tucker's arm. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't tell you for an apology, I told you so you'd fucking _drop it._ " He forced himself not to tense, to let Vega finish the stitches and rewrap his arm. "Let's just finish this." 

“We should put your other arm in a sling,” Vega insisted. “It could dislocate again—”

“It’s fine,” Tucker said, dragging himself to his feet. He leaned his right shoulder against the wall. “Hey… Magnus?”

“Lavernius.”

A shiver travelled down Tucker’s spine at the sound of his name on Vega tongue. “Where are you going, after all this?”

“Oh, wherever Dark Matters sends me, I imagine. The problems with working for a transgalactic shadow organization, I suppose, is I never quite know where I’m going next. But you shouldn’t worry, Detective! I’m yours until this case is finished, and who knows how much deeper you’ll get!”

Tucker nearly choked. Making him blush twice in a day, who _was_ this man? “T-there’s a few more leads to follow up on.”

“Hmm, yes.” Vega fished around in his borrowed first aid kit and pulled out a little paper packet of painkillers. “Like Sigma. That seems to be a name I’ve heard a lot, and I would love a real introduction. Could I convince you to take these?”

“Are they narcotics?”

“...I believe so?”

“Then nope. And it does seem like he’s been pulling the strings, doesn’t it?” Tucker started the slow trek back to the trophy room. God, he hurt, down to his bones, but he made a promise to Lopez years ago. “Telling O’Malley we’re here and not about Gamma, having Doc be the one to meet us, hell, even _I’m_ here at his request. He sent a messenger to my office before I was even in this morning.”

“Do you thing _he_ killed Gamma?”

“No,” Tucker sighed. “No, this one’s too messy. Not his style.”

They reached the doors at the end of the corridor. Just before Vega’s hands brushed the stone, the muffled sound of something shattering on the other side echoed through. 

Tucker and Vega's eyes met, then Vega threw open the doors. 

Doc stood near the trophy case, trembling hands wrapped around a blaster that he had pointed directly at a man in red. The man was eyeing the weapon warily, but he was far, far too composed for someone with six million volts of laser fire pointed at him.

“Come now, Frank,” he said, a condescending lilt to his tone, “you aren’t going to shoot me.”

“Tell me where it is!” Doc yelled. He was desperate and scared, Tucker could see it in his eye. But Tucker had been desperate and scared before, and he knew that was when someone made their stupidest mistakes.

“Doc,” Tucker said, and the blaster whipped around to point at him. He lifted his hands where Doc could see them, see that they were empty. “Vega, put your knives on the ground. Doc, c’mon. You’re better than this.” He heard the soft clink of metal on marble as Vega set his knives on the floor.

“I was almost _out_ ,” Doc said. “I was going to get off this useless planet away from this corrupt cesspool of a city and my stupid family and it’s gone, Tucker! The paperwork was done and signed and—” His voice broke on a sob. “I was almost out.”

“I know,” Tucker said gently. “I know, Doc, fuck, I get that better than anyone. But I need you to tell me what happened.” 

“Isn't it obvious, Detective?” the man said, and Doc pointed the gun at him again.

Tucker inhaled and held it to steady his nerves. “If I wanted your statement, Sigma, I would have asked for it. One witness at a time.”

“Is that how the HCPD does things? No wonder—”

“It’s a good thing I’m not HCPD, then, isn’t it?” Tucker snapped. “Doc. What. Happened.”

“He told me I could film my series,” Doc said. “The paperwork was signed, but… But I found the airing schedule for the next year, and mine wasn’t on it. It wasn’t there, Tucker. So I took the schedule and I came to confront him and he just… started yelling. He asked me about what I did, how’d I’d gotten it open and he wouldn’t stop and listen to me so… I got mad. And I pushed him. And the case was—It was already open, Tucker, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to!”

“I know.” In one fluid movement, he drew his blaster and fired. The bolt splashed across Doc’s chest and he crumpled. Tucker swallowed the dark self-loathing that crawled up his throat. “It’s a stun. I’m taking the mask, Sigma, straight to the PI Registry. If there is anything, a fucking _fingerprint_ that puts you anywhere near here, I swear to god…”

“There won’t be,” Sigma said breezily. “Thank you, Detective, for catching my husband’s killer. I’ll be sure to contact your secretary for the invoice.” He swept from the room, and Tucker knew he’d been used.

And that was thing about Hyperion City, at the end of the day. Everything was a commodity, down to the people, and he was no exception. It never got any easier to swallow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at boxonthenile on tumblr and pillowfort and @nile_speaks on twitter


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait until tomorrow to post the final chapter but FUCK IT.
> 
> No real content warnings.

Tucker locked the mask firmly in his safe in his office, completely ready to march to the PI Registry and turn it in properly, even if he had to wait all night for it to open. 

Vega touched his shoulder so lightly, blinked up at him with big, blue eyes. “It’s cold, detective,” he said morosely. “Surely you aren’t going to wait on the sidewalk all night.”

Tucker shifted on his feet. “C’mon, Vega, it’s not like there’s a lot open in this district at three a.m.”

“I didn’t mean a restaurant.”

Tucker brain came a screaming halt. “Oh. Oh, um. My apartment isn’t far.”

Vega grinned a perfect predator’s grin. “That sounds lovely.”

So Tucker took him home, poured him a drink. He felt Vega’s eyes on him the whole time, and he nearly preened under the attention as he brought the glasses over to his couch.

“To a successful case,” Vega toasted, lifting his glass in Tucker’s direction. Tucker tapped it and drained his glass, the whiskey burning all the way down. “Oh, now, detective. There’s no need for such melancholy silence.”

“You don’t have to go,” Tucker said. “Listen, Vega, you… you could stay. We work together really well, you could—”

“But I can’t,” Vega said gently. “You know that.”

“I know,” Tucker said. He did, really, he understood needing to do the work you doing for whatever reason, but he was selfish. He still didn’t want Vega to leave.

“However, _Lavernius_ ,” and that salacious purr was back, “I am going nowhere tonight.”

Tucker knew an invitation when he received it, and dropped his glass on the table. Vega barely had time to do the same before Tucker was in his lap, kissing him sweet and desperate. Vega’s hand slid under his coat, settled on his waist, fingers dipping down slightly.

He broke the kiss long enough to gasp for breath. “Vega?” The agent hummed into his neck. “Has anyone ever told you—” and he snapped his handcuffs into place around Vega’s wrists. “That you’re under arrest?”

“I—what? Oh, Detective, usually not until the second date.”

“Don’t _fuck_ with me, Vega.”

“I get the feeling this isn’t a come-on.” His voice shifted, from the smooth, suggestive tones Tucker had come to expect to something cheerful and bright. “It’s cute, really. Alright then, I’ll bite; what has you so eager to tie me up?”

“The attempted theft of the Mask of Arcadius—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“—and the theft of the keys to my safe from my back pocket.” Tucker let the keys he’d liberated from inside Vega’s sleeve dangle off his finger.

“That does sound a little more familiar,” Vega admitted. 

“See, that’s what had me confused. Doc said the case was open when he started arguing with Gamma, and you were so _insistent_ on opening doors. I didn’t put it together until Lopez identified the glass syringe I found in your coat. Tuck them under the doorknobs and, tada! An easy way to get the DNA samples needed to open the case.”

“I should have known better than to let you put your fingers in there.”

“You failed to take the Mask on your own, so why not let me do the hard work for you this time? Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”

“A name?” Vega tilted his head and laughed at him. “Is that what you want? Would that make you happier? I don’t just give people that kind of gift, Detective. Names have power.”

“Yeah, whatever, doesn’t matter anyway. Was Church in on it, too?”

“Who? Oh, Dark Matters? No, no, I work best alone, most of the time.”

“What does that mean!”

“Don’t worry too much about it, darling.”

Something like fury knotted in Tucker’s gut at his dismissive tone, like Tucker hadn’t fought tooth and nail to be taken seriously all his life. He’d thought that… well, it didn’t matter what he’d thought. Vega was a thief.

There was a knock at the door, and Tucker sighed, rising from Vega’s lap. “That’s the HCPD.”

“You could come with me, you know.”

Tucker faltered, stopping in his tracks. “What?”

“Come with me,” Vega said softly. “There’s a whole galaxy out there, Detective. This city doesn’t have to be everything. Who knows what trouble we could find… or make.” 

“I told Church this morning, Vega—I don’t put much stock in fantasies.” He opened his front door. “Officers.” 

“Tucker,” one of the officers replied with disdain. “I’m not surprised you’re spending the night with a thief.”

“Thank you, Miller,” Tucker said, exhausted. He stepped aside. On his couch, Vega waved cheerfully, still cuffed.

“I meant what I said, Tucker,” Vega told him as he was escorted out. He hesitated for just a moment in front of him. “It could be such an adventure.”

“I’ll be at the station for a statement in a few minutes,” Tucker said. He can’t look Vega in the eye.

The door closing behind them felt like a punctuation mark. Tucker pressed his forehead to the synthwood and breathed out, long and slow and aching. He turned to lean his back against the frame and touched his fingers to his lips. He hadn’t felt as… alive as he had during that kiss in years, and it was surprising painful.

 _Come with me_ , he’d said, like it was so easy, like Tucker could leave everything behind and run away. Like he had nothing tying him here, like there was nothing he had to atone for. He sighed, shoving one hand into his pocket for a cigarette—and freezing.

His safe keys were gone. 

Tucker patted his pockets frantically, but they were gone. No. No, it wasn’t possible, there was no way he could have…

He sprinted out of his apartment and down three blocks to his office. The third floor window was open. His window. 

The safe was open and empty, save for the keys and Tucker’s wallet. He fumbled his wallet open and sighed. Every paper credit in it was gone, replaced by a note.

 _‘Sorry~’_ it read. _‘Wasn’t anything personal, Detective. See you next time I’m on Mars? I owe you a drink. XOXO’_

It was signed. “Franklin Delano Donut,” Tucker read aloud. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air. Tucker crumpled the note in his hand… and brought it to his nose, breathing deep.

You couldn’t trust anyone in Hyperion City. Tucker had known that for a long, long time. Everytime he thought it would be different, he got a harsh reminder that it wasn’t, and never would be. A gravestone with his brother’s name. An unworn wedding dress.

A note and an empty safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Has anyone ever told you you're under arrest," is pulled directly from Juno Steel and the Case of the Murderous Mask and I love it so goddamn much.


End file.
